


Like A Match Into Water

by locusdesperatus



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Abuse, Choking, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Light Bondage, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Verbal Humiliation, Waterboarding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25391632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/locusdesperatus/pseuds/locusdesperatus
Summary: Simmons has had enough.
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Derek C. Simmons
Comments: 4
Kudos: 37





	Like A Match Into Water

"Shit!" The water had gotten much too hot. Leon yanked his hand away, briefly sticking the reddened skin in his mouth to soothe it. Ever since Spain, since the plaga, he'd been more sensitive to temperature changes. Cold was one thing, if it wasn't too bad, he could shrug it off, but heat…

The sensation of being burned- of feeling his skin ache from deep-seated nerve damage- always left him anxious.

Leon stuck his hands under the dryer, watching water drip into a small puddle on the floor. He was exhausted. For the last week, he'd been in charge of planning the security detail surrounding President Benford's appearance at a banquet dinner in Tall Oaks. Even though the university that was hosting the ordeal had security measures in place, it was still a nightmare to get them up to the DSO's specifications. Every change he suggested was either met with ridicule or disregarded completely by Security Advisor Simmons, and to top it all off, the campus patrols saw him as an outsider encroaching on their territory.

He just couldn't win. This was why he hated politics.

Absorbed in his own thoughts and deafened by the noise of the hand dryer, he didn't hear the bathroom door open and certainly didn't notice quiet footsteps sneaking up behind him.

"Agent Kennedy."

"Huh?" He spun around, nearly slipping on the wet tile. "Simmons." He greeted. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in, I was leav-"

"I'm afraid not." 

"What?" Leon barely had time to look shocked before cruel fingers twisted in his hair, pulling him down onto his knees. "Hey!" He reached up, trying to relieve the strain on his scalp. "What the fuck?" 

"You have always been a _nuisance!_ " Simmons hissed. "Always sticking your nose where it doesn't belong, _meddling_ with affairs that don't concern you. I should've-" He shook his head. "If it had been up to me, I would have sold you to an umbrella knock-off as cannon fodder and let some dim-witted fool fill your shoes."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Leon grunted as he was pushed into one of the stalls. The action brought back memories from high school, of getting swirlies from the bigger kids. They could never resist messing up his perfect pretty-boy hair. It seemed like Simmons had something similar in mind. He used Leon's hair like a leash, dragging him over to the toilet and tossing him against it.

"Put your hands on the seat." He ordered.

"What? No!" Leon went to turn around, yelling out in pain when he was backhanded. Simmons' ring dug into his cheek, scraping away skin near the scar that Krauser had left behind in Spain. Crying out in pain, he reached for the wound. Before he could check on it, he was twisted around and pushed forward, grabbing onto the toilet to keep his balance. Simmons was quick, yanking down his pants and kicking his legs apart. Leon closed his eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths. 

_Don't fight and it'll be over soon, just don't fight. Don't fight, don't fight, don't fight._

He felt tears escape him, trickling shamefully down his cheeks. Simmons' fingers were brutal, shoving into him with only spit to ease the terrible friction of skin on skin. It felt like hot iron creeping up his bowels. 

"Why are you doing this?" He gasped out. A pitiful whimper forced its way out from between his lips.

"No one around here is brave enough to knock you down a few pegs." Simmons crooked his fingers upwards, jamming them into sensitive nerves. "A nasty little whore like you needs to be kept humble, or you'll get too big for your britches. I don't _need_ your help, the _President_ doesn't need your help. Benford should've kept your mouth busy, maybe then you wouldn't interfere with my business."

Leon stared ahead blankly, eyes wide. With flushed cheeks, he listened to Simmons snarl and hiss, spinning tales about him prostituting himself for drugs or drinks. None of it was true, it couldn't be. There had only been a couple of times where he'd gotten drunk enough to black out, and he swore he hadn't done anything that humiliating. 

Abruptly, Simmons removed his fingers, mashing his cock against Leon's hole. It took a few tries, but he managed to push it in, forcing the muscle to swallow him down.

"No wonder your salary is so high." He grabbed Leon's arm, threatening to unbalance him. "They pay to keep you nice and tight, don't they?" 

It was unclear who "they" were, but Simmons wasn't stopping to clarify. He thrust forward brutally, using his grip to pull Leon's arms behind his back and force his head into the toilet bowl.

"No! Simmons!" Leon sobbed out. He held his breath as his face was forced into the water. He could still hear the lewd noises coming from above, still feel his body twitch as he was impaled over and over. Whether he wanted it to or not, his cock was taking interest in the pleasure being wrung out of him. The humiliation of being waterboarded and raped only added to his excitement, something he'd never forgive himself for. 

"How long can you hold your breath?" Simmons asked, out of breath. He snapped his hips forward with a groan. "Will you let me drown you, or are you going to fight back for once?" 

"Guh!" Leon gasped for air as his head was yanked up, held cruelly by his hair. Simmons stepped away for a moment, leaving him to sag against the porcelain. When he returned, he used Leon's belt to bind his hands tightly behind his back. The other end looped around his neck, forcing him to hold his arms tight against his back to keep his airway open. 

"Stop! Stop, just stop!" Leon sobbed out. His protests turned into watery gurgles as Simmons shoved his head back into the water. He choked and sputtered, barely managing to take in a lungful of air before the force of being fucked made his body snap forward. His head slammed into the inside of the toilet, dazing him. 

It seemed like it went on for hours. He was allowed just enough oxygen to keep from drowning, the belt cutting into his neck as he tilted his head up and _gasped_. Everything around him reeked of piss, but if he gave in to the urge to gag, it would surely be his end. At this point, if he inhaled water, he wasn't sure if Simmons would stop to resuscitate him. Would he keep on fucking Leon until he became nothing but a lifeless corpse? 

"Fuck!" Simmons dug his nails into trembling thighs, manhandling the body beneath him to his own specification. He snarled out a few more low curses before grabbing onto the belt and yanking Leon upwards. Shuddering at the harsh, visceral choking noises, he waited for a few long moments, savoring them. Just as he was sure his pretty little victim was going to pass out, he let go. 

"Nuh- huh!" Leon tumbled to the floor, cracking his head on the tile. He laid still, gasping for breath. "Get away." His voice was scratchy and rough, throat damaged from the choking.

"Hm." Simmons wrapped his hand around his cock, rapidly masturbating himself. He nudged Leon until he rolled onto his side, then knelt down, pushing his hips forward and ejaculating across flushed skin and matted, blond bangs. "I'll see you at the banquet, Agent Kennedy." 

Leon pushed his face into the floor, trembling. He listened to Simmons' footsteps recede before daring to work his wrists free of the belt. 

"Fuck." His voice broke, and he shuffled out of the stall before daring to straighten his clothes. Crawling to the sink, he used it to drag himself to his feet. Looking in the mirror was a mistake. His hair was wet and plastered against his forehead, obscuring his right eye. The other eye was red, swollen from crying. Simmons' cum stained his skin, across his cheek and nose. Furiously, he scrubbed it away, feeling more sobs building in his chest. 

Just his luck, the door opened behind him. Fearfully, he glanced over his shoulder. Two of his fellow agents filed in, hardly giving him a second glance as they talked and laughed. They made a beeline for the urinals, and he hurriedly pushed past them, too frightened to check and make sure he'd actually gotten all the cum off of his face.

He knew people were throwing him strange looks, but he ignored it, more interested in _escaping_ than dealing with the social blowout. 

By the time he made it home, tears were streaming down his cheeks. The liquor cabinet beckoned him, and he opened it without a second thought, eagerly unscrewing the cap on a bottle of scotch and slumping to the ground with it. The alcohol hurt his damaged windpipe, searing him on its way to his stomach.

It burned. It always burned.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter!   
> @pointofdespair


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